


On the Slopes of Ormfjallið

by semiseverus



Series: The Wheel of Urðr [1]
Category: Norse Mythology, Thor (Movies), Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Community: norsekink, Crossover, Gen, Odin's Parenting, Unreliable Narrator, Warning: Loki, authentic spelling just to create atmosphere, author does not actually know old norse, insanity due to magic, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semiseverus/pseuds/semiseverus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A <i>Thor</i>/<i>Wheel of Time</i> fusion, with Rand al'Thor!Loki, for <a href="http://norsekink.livejournal.com/10823.html?thread=22457159#t22457159">this Norsekink prompt</a> by nemi_chan. Tags will be adjusted with future parts.</p><p>The wheel of Urðr turns and ages come and go, leaving memories that become legend, which in turn becomes myth. In this age, an age yet to come, an age long past, a god is born to Jǫtunheimr. There is madness in his mind and despair in his heart, for he is destined to break the world, and not even he knows whether in the end he will be its savior or its death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Slopes of Ormfjallið

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Old Norse is as accurate as I can figure it out, but I know nothing about linguistics/grammar so it's probably totally wrong. Just FYI.
> 
> Ormfjallið = Dragonmount, literally dragon mountain  
> Hildkumis saga = saga of the coming battle  
> A maiden and a man = an intersex Jǫtunn  
> Ancient blood = Ymir's blood, i.e. Jǫtnar lineage  
> Old blood = Óðinn's blood, i.e. the Æsir  
> Vetrhjarta = literally "winter's heart," i.e. the Casket of Ancient Winters  
> konungs skørð = king's scars, i.e. the Jǫtunn skin markings  
> galðrar = spells  
> seiðmann = male sorcerer

_On the slopes of Ormfjallið shall he be born,_  
 _born of a maiden and a man._  
 _He will be of the ancient blood, and raised by the old blood._  
 _\- Hildkumis saga_

_Once the konungs skørð, to set his path._  
 _\- Hildkumis saga_

An unearthly cry arose on the wind. Amidst the moaning of the injured and the hoarse calls of the ravens circling overhead, it took Óðinn a moment to hear the call, and another to recognize it for what it was. 

He limped up the rocky slope toward the entrance of the temple. The ground was treacherous here, slick with spilled blood and jagged ice. Only Jǫtnar could pass without difficulty, born as they were with the gifts of winter. So what was a crying child doing on the battlefield?

The infant's wail grew louder as Óðinn entered the temple of Ormfjallið. The Jǫtnar had thought this lonely structure their last refuge, believing it protected by the great wyrm who lived in the mountain. Here it was that they had kept the cherished Vetrhjarta, kept it and used it until Sigtýr had stormed in with the einherjar. The Vetrhjarta had been placed in Óðinn's hands in the small hours: evidence, in addition to the Jǫtnar corpses littering the battlefields, of Æsir victory.

Óðinn had ordered the destruction of the temple himself. Its ruins would stand forever on the spine of Ormfjallið, looking out over the carnage he had wrought. 

The child lay wrapped in a white wolf's fur, tucked into an icy niche in the back. Its scrunched-up face, blue as the sky over Midgard, was flushed with indigo from crying. Fresh scar-ridges, three of them, arced across its forehead; the top line was broken directly above the infant's tiny nose. Óðinn had seen the same markings, warped and twisted with age, on Laufey-king's face, and none other's. This, then, must be Laufey's son, left here for safe-keeping.

He picked it up in its furs and rocked it back and forth. This wasn't so different from holding his own infant son and heir, born at long last to Frigg hardly two years before Óðinn went to war. The motion soothed the child, and as he stroked its snowy cheek the thought came to him: _This child could be mine_. 

Óðinn did not know the source of the thought. It niggled at him as he held the young Jǫtunn, like a memory long-forgotten. But such a thing was possible: the child could very well be Frigg's, planted in her not long after Þórr. Óðinn knew how to weave _galðrar_ for disguise and deception, to hide the child's Jǫtunn heritage and smuggle it into Ásgarðr, and he could invent others to keep it at a reasonable height. 

Plans spun themselves in his mind as the child squirmed. The boy could be trained, made into a _seiðmann_ and a spy, loyal to Óðinn and to Ásgarðr. He could be raised as a prince of the Æsir, boon companion to Thór, destined to inherit the throne of his father. The potential was stunning.

Óðinn brushed his fingertips over the child's face again, this time with the power of _seiðr_ , and watched as the color drained from its skin. With this newly-formed Ás he would remake the world.


End file.
